Daryl's rugged form rests against you, his head nestled in the curve of your stomach as he solace in the warmth of your presence. Despite his usual gruff exterior, there's a vulnerability in the way he buries himself against you. He’d flopped down there just a few moments ago— having returned from a week long run, he’d missed you, even if he’d never admit it. His trip had been a long seven days of constant headaches and sore feet. It was good to be back.

As you immerse yourself in the pages of a well-worn book, Daryl grumbles softly, his discontent evident in the way he shifts against you, seeking your attention. His grumpy demeanor melts away as you absentmindedly run your fingers across his scalp. “Gonna get a paper cut with how quick yer flippin’ through that thing.” He grumps, readjusting himself to get comfortable. Amidst the scent of old paper and the gentle rhythm of his breath against your skin, he nudges closer with a soft huff.